


Sickness

by FuryNZ



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gold Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryNZ/pseuds/FuryNZ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The gold sickness begins to consume Thorin's thoughts; will he overcome it, or will others suffer before it can be banished?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_War._ **

Thorin ponders the thought from the strong voice in his mind, then echoes it.  “I will have war!” He shouts from the Erebor’s battlements, and Fili and Kili look on in fear.  

“Uncle--”

“Not now, Fili.  Go ready the others for battle.”

“Please, Uncle--”

**_He doesn’t trust you._ **

“GO!” Thorin roars, and his golden-haired nephew grabs his younger brother’s arm and pulls him out roughly.  Kili casts a sad look back in his direction, but Thorin turns away, focusing his gaze down on the grey horizon.

**_The young one doesn’t trust you, either._ **

“They are my nephews,” Thorin huffs, crossing his arms.  “They will listen.”

**_They mean to take your throne, your gold._ **

“They would not,” Thorin says aloud.  “They are loy--” 

“Thorin?” Balin’s voice rings out from door.  “Who are you talking to?”  The elderly advisor steps out onto the stone balcony, looking out towards Laketown and Dale.  He steps up beside Thorin, the metal of his  boots clacking as he moves. 

“Nobody,” Thorin huffs, his fingers gliding along the edges of the stone.  He can’t tell them about the voice in his head, the one that’s been there as long as he can remember.  For most of his life it’s been quiet, occasionally muttering gentle reminders about Erebor and their forgotten home.  It’s been wistful, and even comforting at times, telling him about the wealth and history of the dwarves. 

It was there when his father took him aside one day, asking if he’d heard voices in his head.  He denied it, of course; it sounded preposterous.  But his father looked relieved, and told him how proud he was of him, and that was let be.  Thoin didn’t understand; the voice was kind, and it brought him peace and a sense of stability.   

After his father and grandfather were lost, the voice grew stronger; he trusted it, listened to it.  He ruled his people well, and he credited the voice for helping.  And then the voice reminded him of Erebor, and his duty to reclaim his home and his people’s wealth.   _His_ wealth, it told him. 

“Thorin?” Balin asks again.  “Are you feeling well?  Perhaps you should come inside, Bombur has made dinner.” 

Balin has been his advisor for as long as Thorin has ruled; before, his grandfather’s advisor.  His advice was always sound and the elder dwarf had aided him countless times. 

**_He has also defied you._**

Balin would be the first to tell Thorin when he had made a mistake, or when he needed to take action when none had been pursued.  Balin wasn’t afraid to stand up to Thorin and point out his errors, and demand that he do right.  Others told him Balin’s counsel was invaluable; that his skills and perceptions would complement the future king’s.  He had generally come to agree with that assessment, keeping the elder dwarf at his side and confiding in him.   

**_He could take your crown and rule Erebor.  We must cast him out._**

“I will join you when I’m ready.” 

“You need to eat,” Balin says.  “You’re unsteady on your feet, I’ve watched you all day.  Now get in here.” 

“Go!” Thorin roars. 

Balin frowns and shakes his head, muttering and entering the mountain again.   

Thorin listens to the sound of Balin’s boots fade. 

**_We can’t trust him._**

Thorin looks out from the battlements again; growing armies gather below the giant dwarven statues that adorn Erebor’s broken gates.  Inside, he has only thirteen.  Twelve dwarves and a hobbit. 

**_The hobbit knows more about the Arkenstone then he lets on.  Kill him and retrieve what is rightfully yours._**

Thorin turns away and walks into the grand halls.  The robe he has found, one of his grandfather’s, drags along the viridian stone and leaves a path through the dust.  His fingers brush the tip of the dagger tucked into the elegant garment, and he feels a tingle course through his body.  He grips it tightly. 

“Dinner is ready, are you going to join us?”   

Bilbo stands outside the door to the chamber where the others have chosen to make a temporary home.  There is muted chatter from inside but no laughter tonight; undoubtedly word of his decision to go to war weighs heavily on their minds.   

**_If any one of them chooses not to fight, you must make an example of them._**

“Balin said you were distracted.  Is there anything I can do?” 

**_Kill him.  There is nobody else around.  Slit his throat, find the Arkenstone, and kick his body off into the chasm where it belongs._**

The dwarven King grasps the dagger, now warm in his hand, and begins to withdraw it from his robes.  It’ll be quick for the hobbit; across the throat, before he can twitch or scream.  He can deny having seen him; perhaps he wandered off, lost in the vast corridors of Erebor.  Nobody would find-- 

“Thorin,” Dwalin appears in the doorway. 

Thorin’s hand drops back down into his robe, letting the dagger rest in the pocket. 

“I’ve put aside a bowl for you.”  The warrior, Thorin’s closest friend since the passing of his own brother, watches with a glint in his eye.  Bilbo ducks back into the room with the others. 

**_He lulls you in with his trust.  But he knows he holds power over you; he waits to strike._**

“I would serve myself,” Thorin says. 

**_Yes, he could be trying to poison you.  To take your crown when you are in such a precarious position.  We cannot remove him here.  Perhaps we can turn his own tricks against him._**

“Eat from the bowl you set aside.  I will fetch my own.”  Thorin wanders into the hall, the rest of the group turning and watching him. 

**_They are envious of your power, your wealth.  They mean to take what is yours._**

Thorin collects a bowl from the floor and Bombur stands ready with his iron ladle out and a smile on his face. 

**_Slow, fat, stupid._** ** _He is not an urgent threat.  He will likely die early in the battle.  Don’t waste your efforts on that one._**

The King reaches out and pulls the soup spoon from Bombur’s clumsy fingers, dropping the scoop back into the pot and mixing the contents before pulling out another spoonful, filling his own bowl.  Bombur watches with wide eyes but says nothing. 

“This one should be especially good,” Bofur says, propped up against the wall with Bifur beside him.  “Found some old spices down the hall in a room.  Should be a tasty meal fit for a king,” he says with his usual easy-going smile, and the rest of the room seems to relax.  Bifur mumbles and takes a big mouthful.

**_Bifur_** ** _is a strong fighter; Bofur entices the others with his words.  Simple merchants and miners they appear to be, but these ones are clever and strong.  They will have to be removed from the mountain._**

Thorin sighs and moves along the wall, choosing a simple chair in the corner, his back to the wall where he can monitor to the others. 

**_Yes.  This is safe._**

He keeps his head down while he eats but stirs when somebody approaches, and looks up.   

“We found some ale down below,” Dori says, holding out a mug.  “Did you want some?” 

**_None of them can be trusted._**

Thorin takes a bite of his soup.  “No, I don’t,” he says.  “This is enough.” 

“Are you sure?  It looks like it’s the good stuff--”  Nori cuts in. 

“I said no.” 

**_They’ll stab you in your back while you sleep._**

Thorin’s eyes float over the room to Oin and Gloin. 

**_Greedy._** ** _Suspicious._**

Ori. 

**_Weak, pathetic._ **

Fili, Kili. 

**_Scheming, reckless, useless._**

Thorin hesitates and stares at his sister-sons.   

**_He would take your crown._**

“No!” Thorin stands from his corner, heaving his bowl into the wall and storming out.  Thirteen pairs of eyes watch but look at each other hesitantly. 

**_Because they don’t care about you._** ** _They hope you’re going to never return.  They’d rather you roam the corridors of Erebor endlessly, lost in your own thoughts._**

“I would rest easier without you.” 

**_You would have nothing without me.  I am your ambition.  I am your conscious.  I am your pride.  I am your nostalgia.  I am you, Thorin.  You are me._**

Thorin swallows and walks the halls. 

**_Worthless._** ** _A king of a village to the west.  You would be sitting in a forge, slaving to men and other dwarves, not a king under a mountain.  A laborer.  You’d be nothing without me._**

“Leave me alone!”  Thorin’s hands clump into tight fists, and he walks swiftly down the stone catwalk. 

**_The others will destroy you.  You must destroy them first._**

Thorin stops, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands.  His sanity is at strained; he no longer knows which thoughts are his and which shouldn’t be.  He slides down the wall, sitting and wrapping his arms around his knees; not very kingly but nobody is around to see him fall apart.  Would he care if they did?  He just wants to be saved from this madness inside his mind. 

**_It would be easier if you just listened to me, obeyed me, we could work together and then I wouldn’t have to be here.  It would be quieter._**

He straightens and considers it.  Perhaps it’s right.  It _has_ helped him get this far.  Would he be the dwarf he is today if the voice hadn’t prodded him to this point? 

**_Get up.  It’s time to act.  It’s time to remove those who threaten your position._**

Thorin draws himself up and takes a deep breath.  There is something comforting about deciding to listen to the voice; but yet he feels a _weight_ like no other on his shoulders.  He winces as if its pressing him into the stone; every footfall echoes through the corridor with more certainty than before though. 

**_That’s right.  You’re the king.  You will rule with certainty, and none will dare question your authority._**

Thorin raises his head and continues into the grand halls.  He is no longer dwarfed by its size, but walks regally through as if the pillars bow to his grandeur.  He holds his head high.  When he reaches the rooms that the company occupies, he realizes they’re asleep - how long had he been wandering on his own?  He peers into the first room to find Balin, Dwalin, Oin and Gloin asleep. 

**_Keep going._**

In the next are Nori, Dori and Ori; the older brothers surrounding the younger, weapons within reach. 

**_Not yet._**

the next room contains the forms of Bombur, Bofur, Bifur and Bilbo. 

**_The hobbit._** ** _He may have the stone._**

Bilbo peers at the group, taking note of Bifur’s hand on his spear, and Bofur curled close to the hobbit. 

**_Too dangerous._** ** _There is a greater threat._**

He comes to the last room; inside are the forms of his two nephews, side by side.  Fili lays curled on his side away from his brother.  Kili is sprawled on his back, one hand clutching at the hem of Fili’s tunic.  Just as he did as a small dwarfling. 

**_Yes.  These two would take your throne; cast you aside.  They question your decisions, as you saw today.  It would be easy for them to claim it from you as your heirs.  You must be rid of them._**

Thorin slides the dagger out; but his moves are stuttered and hesitant.  The large ornate robe hampers his movements somewhat.  He allows it to slide to the floor, his hand tightly gripping the blade’s handle, his knuckles white.

**_We must be quick._**

The King under the Mountain pauses and stares down at the pair. 

**_Which one should be first?_**

Thorin’s eyes flick to Kili. 

_Thorin_ _watched his nephew pick up the bow, far too large for his tiny frame.  Kili pulled the string back and let it go, giggling as it twanged.  Thorin smiled and picked up an arrow.  “Now Kili, you mustn’t pull the string unless there’s an arrow fitted within it.  Pulling the string back creates energy, and if the energy isn’t used to fire an arrow it it reverberates and causes damage to the wood.  Do you understand?”_

_“What’s rev-verb-erev-ates mean?” Kili asks, his brown eyes staring up innocently._

_Thorin_ _chuckles._ _“Reverberates.  It shakes.  It means it causes damage to the bow.  You don’t want to break it, so don’t pull unless you’re firing an arrow.”_

_“Okay!” Kili grins, picking up one of the arrows and trying to hold it to the string; it immediately drops out.    “Oh.  How do I do this, Uncle?”_

_Thorin_ _smiles softly down on his nephew and kneels beside the youngster.  “Here,” he says, wrapping his arms around Kili and helping him hold the bow.  “Let me show you.”_

_Kili_ _smiles back, a gap-toothed grin.  “Thank you Uncle.  You’re the bestest Uncle.”_

**_When did the young one lose that faith and love for you?_**

Thorin winces. 

**_But the other one, the older one._** ** _Maybe he should be first?_**

He moves over to the form of Fili.  The blond dwarf rolls onto his back, placing him shoulder to shoulder with his younger brother.   

_Thorin_ _watches as Fili swings the pair of swords, effectively parrying Dwalin’s axe.  One remains in place while the other swings around, stopping just short of the older dwarf’s calf.  Fili turns the sword, tapping the flat side against Dwalin’s leg with a pleased grin._

_“Very good, Fili,” the weapon master says.  “Go have some water while I talk to your Uncle.”  The young dwarf bounds to the other side of the practice circle, braids bobbing along.  Dwalin moves to where Thorin stands at the edge, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic.  “Incredibly skilled.  Not many have the strength and control in both arms to fight like he does.  He’s quick on his feet and can predict most of my moves.  I’m not putting up a show out there.  The lad is very impressive, and to think he’s only turned fifty.”_

_Thorin_ _smiles broadly.  “Truly a king in the making.  Both intelligent and a warrior.”_

_“Aye, very thoughtful, that one.”_

_Fili_ _comes running over, still full of energy.  “Mister Dwalin, can we spar again?”_

_“Oye, lad, I need a break.  Can we take a break?”_

_Fili_ _pauses but then nods.  “Did you see, Uncle?”_

_“I did see that last one.  I’m very proud of you, Fili.  You’re going to be quite dangerous soon.”_

**_Yes, he is far more dangerous than his brother.  He must be first._**

Thorin lifts his dagger; suddenly the weight is heavier than a boulder in his hands.  “I can’t...they are my nephews,” his whispers.  Kili stirs slightly at his words. 

**_They have the biggest claim to the throne.  If the others defy you, they will seek to put this one on the throne.  The younger one is less of a threat than his brother; he is slower, weaker and can be overpowered.  The crown prince must be removed; he is strong, he is fast.  Then you will kill the younger next._**

“Fili…” 

**_Closer, move a little closer; see how it feels._**

Thorin steps around to Fili’s open side.  He drops to one knee and observes his sleeping nephew.  His chest rises and falls with each breath; he rocks back and forth slightly, likely caught within a dream. 

**_End those breaths.  He doesn’t trust you.  He would take your throne._**

Thorin closes his eyes, picturing the young dwarfling running towards him as he returned from the forge many years ago; braids bouncing along.   

**_Once, perhaps._** ** _But no more.  You heard him question your decision of war.  He would keep you from your rightful position, from the wealth which is meant to be yours._**

Thorin wraps both hands around the dagger’s handle and holds it out over Fili’s heart; his arms tremble and a tear slips from his eye. 

**_NOW._**

Thorin plunges the knife down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Thorin's attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in part two; I had to find the right mindset to finish this one properly.

The knife hits Fili’s tunic and there’s the unmistakable noise of metal on metal; but the surface isn’t flat, and the knife slides off what Thorin realizes is one of Fili’s hidden blades. There’s a lot of force behind his motion however and it sinks down into the soft skin beside the dagger, his fist slipping off and slamming into his nephew’s chest, followed by a crack of bone.

Fili cries out, waking immediately with the pain blossoming in his chest and trying to roll up off the ground, bringing both hands to his chest. Blood seeps into his tunic.

**_You missed. Again! Before he can fight back!_ **

Thorin sneers and raises the dagger, slamming it down toward Fili’s chest again.

“Uncle!”

A hand reaches out, pushing and reaching for Thorin’s arms, and he turns the knife, dragging it across the offending limbs which prevent him from reaching the Crown Prince again, another voice shrieks with pain and crimson blood spills.

**_Yes, yes. Bleed them both out. Keep going! Aim for the neck, finish them off._ **

Kili reels back, holding his sliced arm; Fili is gasping, eyes wide. But when Thorin lunges at the golden-haired prince, he still manages to roll away toward his brother. Kili jumps forward, trying to protect Fili who attempts to shout for help, but it’s a mere whisper of what it should be. Kili slips in his own blood, falling across Fili’s middle, and the blond whimpers with the hit.

**_You’re too slow! Others will be here! Why haven’t you killed the eldest? Are you that useless? You don’t deserve your gold if you can’t protect it. You don’t deserve anything if you can’t rid yourself of one threat._ **

Something snaps in Thorin’s head, and he looks down at his two nephews. Kili, intentionally or not, now lays on top of Fili, pressed chest to chest. They both look up, fear and pain twisting their usual features.

Thorin gasps. “What am I doing?”

**_Finish him! Redeem yourself!_ **

“Thorin!” From the doorway, Dwalin looks on, horrified and confused.

**_Quickly!_ **

The voice presses again, and he loses sight of his most valuable treasures again. Thorin leaps for Fili, all thoughts pressed aside momentarily in hopes that if pleasing the voice will make it go away, at least for a little awhile.

Kili lifts an arm as Thorin comes down towards Fili’s neck. The blade nicks his arm, then through the side of Fili’s neck, deflected, and the point slams into the cold stone. There’s screaming, shouting, but somehow it sounds distant.

**_Useless, worthless. You don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve to live. They’d be better off without you. None of this would have happened if you didn’t exist!_ **

Thorin turns the blade on himself, holding it above his chest. He drives it towards his own heart, but Dwalin was on the move as soon as he swung at his nephews. He’s there and grasping at Thorin’s wrists, snagging them and pulling them back away from his King’s heart.

“Thorin, stop!”

**_Get him, slit his throat--_ **

Thorin spins the knife towards Dwalin, using the momentum to push it back towards his close friend’s neck.

Fatigue is setting in after struggling with his nephews, and Dwalin easily sidesteps the maneuver and disarms Thorin. Dwalin shoves him back into the corner, pushing him down to a sitting position and hovering over.

**_Failure. It’s gone now. Everything we worked for. You can’t even kill a pair of dwarflings._ **

Tears sting Thorin’s eyes and he looks up. The rest of the company has turned up - when did that happen? There’s frantic muttering and dwarves running about. In the center of all the attention lays Fili, with Oin hovering over him; there’s bloody wool and cloth laying next to him. Kili stands nearby, trying to get closer; Gloin has an arm wrapped around his uninjured half, trying to bandage his bleeding arm and asking him to sit down. He’s reaching and asking for his brother.

**_Maybe you did kill one. Maybe you aren’t as hopeless as you seem. Still, it took a lot of effort. If it’d been anybody else it would have been done properly the first time._ **

“No,” Thorin mutters.

“What?”

Thorin looks up to where Dwalin stares down, holding the bloody knife. His nephews’ blood.

“What did you say?”

“Is Fili okay?” Thorin asks, genuinely concerned, and still a little unsure of what he’s done, not willing to believe it.

Dwalin looks down angrily. “Strange time to start caring, just after attacking the lad.”

“Please, Dwalin. I need to know.”

“Why? So you can plan to attack him again?”

_**Yes.** _

“No, that’s not it at all--”

Fili lets out a pained shout, and Kili is clawing at Gloin and Bifur who struggle to hold him back, still trying to reach his brother’s side; his own arm bloody.

_**At least they may suffer as we have.** _

“Please! Let me be!”

Dwalin furrows his brow. “Fine. I’m taking you down to the cells,” he says. “Only safe place for you right now.”

“No, please, I need to know if F--”

“Nori, give me a hand,” he calls out, and the other dwarf appears with a frown; his tunic is covered in blood, and Thorin shakes his head, wondering which nephew it belonged too.

_**They might still perish from infection.** _

“No!” Thorin shouts again, and Nori looks to Dwalin, confused. There’s another shout from the back, Oin barking orders, and suddenly all he can hear is a pained wheezing sound. Fili. “Please, you don’t understand--”

“No, we definitely do not understand,” Balin says, walking up to the trio. “Why would you attack your own nephews? You’ve not been right for awhile, Thorin. I can see that. But what prompted this?”

_**They won’t believe you. And if they do, you’ll never become the respected King you could have been. You’ve failed in so many ways, Thorin. You’re weak, incompetent, an ignorant fool--** _

“Please,” Thorin pleads. “Please let me be.”

Balin pauses and then sighs. He nods to Nori and Dwalin. “Take him to the next room over. I need to speak with him. I have suspicions of what’s happening.”

_**He knows, he knows. You’re worthless.** _

“My nephews,” Thorin says, tears clouding his vision. “Will they be alright? Can I see them?”

Dwalin and Nori each grasp one of his arms and pull him forward. The other dwarves go silent as he’s dragged away, save Oin, Dori and Bofur who work frantically over Fili’s prone form. Thorin looks down to see blood splattered across the blond’s lips and chin, and his tunic stained crimson.

Kili is being held back against the wall; Gloin is trying to tie a bandage around his arm. His struggles are weak, and he stares at his still brother, tears down his cheeks.

_**Failed.** _

Dwalin pulls him out into the corridor and into the next room. “Sit,” he says, and Thorin lowers himself onto a crate by the wall.

Nori remains at the door, and Dwalin watches from just inside. They say nothing, and Thorin is both grateful and frustrated.

_**Useless. You can’t even remove two dwarflings. The biggest threats to your rule. The ones who covet your gold the most.** _

“They do not,” Thorin whispers. “They are loyal. I love them.”

Dwalin watches curiously, but Thorin takes no notice.

_**Now what? They know. They no longer trust you. You’ve lost everything for us. Even if they forgive you, they’ll never look at you the same way again. You’re sick, tainted, and they all know it could happen again. They’ll never trust you. They’ll never believe you.** _

A pain-filled scream from the room next door causes Thorin to jump and start to stand.

“Sit,” Dwalin says, his voice a low growl, and Thorin obeys.

_**Still alive, sadly. But he must be in such pain. At least we did something right.** _

“No! Nothing is right! You’re wrong!”

Nori and Dwalin exchange glances but hold their ground.

Thorin begins counting quietly in the corner, focusing his thoughts elsewhere so the voice stays away. He’s nearly to four hundred when Balin enters the room, his footsteps echoing in the nearly empty chamber.

“Thorin,” he says with an air of resignation.

“Four hundred twenty-three, four hundred twenty-four--”

“Thorin, stop,” Balin says. “Listen to me.”

_**He cannot be trusted. He will twist you.** _

“You’ve already done that!” Thorin screams, twisting his fingers into his own hair. “Four hundred twenty-five, four hundred twenty-six--”

Dwalin follows Balin across the room, clearly concerned for his older brother’s safety. Balin carries over another crate, placing it across from Thorin.

_**Don’t listen.** _

“Four hundred twenty-seven, four hundred twenty-eight...”

“How long have you heard the voice?”

Thorin looks up in surprise.

Balin nods knowingly. “Your are not the first, but I do hope you are the last,” he says with a sigh. “Both your father and your grandfather heard voices,” he said. “Your grandfather especially. It is a curse that has followed the line of Durin for generations. Gold sickness, they often call it.”

“My father and my grandfather?”

“Indeed,” Balin explains. “I’m afraid your grandfather was quite taken with it when Smaug attacked. Much would have been different if his mind had not been infested with those vile thoughts.”

“It is not always vile,” Thorin says. “It is often right.”

Balin shakes his head again. “No, it’s not. It’s manipulative. It will tell you what it needs to sway you. And it will overpower you, and try to batter you into submission.”

Thorin stares back, lips slightly parted, quite surprised.

“It’s well-documented,” Balin explains. “But hard to cure, unfortunately. Tell me, six months ago, could the voice have convinced you to attack you nephews?”

_**You knew that killing them was the right course of action. It still must be done.** _

“No,” Thorin whispers. “No,” he says again, meeting Balin’s gaze. He swallows, fisting the fabric of his tunic. “Please - are they alright?”

“Kili will be fine, physically. It’s bloody but should clean and stitch up.” He pauses and glances back toward the doorway.

Thorin’s breath hitches.

“Fili is too soon to tell. He’s losing a lot of blood. They’re doing their best.”

On cue, there’s another blood-curdling scream from his eldest nephew, followed by a shout from the younger.

_**Those sounds are very promising, aren’t they? You’re protecting your rule. It was the right thing to do.** _

Thorin’s hands move back up to his own head again, finding their way into his silver-streaked hair, and he closes his eyes. A moment later, Balin’s hands find their way onto Thorin’s, pulling them away from his head and holding them within his own.

“What is it telling you?”

“It keeps telling me that killing them was the right thing to do, to protect myself.”

“Why did you need to protect yourself?”

“Fili would take my crown.”

“Why do you believe that?”

Thorin furrows his brow in thought.

“Tell me, Thorin, has he ever done anything to contest your rule, to speak out against, to harm you?”

“On the battlements, earlier today, when I declared war, he was against me--”

“Was he? He called your name, and you told him to go and ready the others for battle. Do you know what he did? He listened. He put on his own armor, and helped the others, ready to lead everybody into a fight, under your command.”

“Did he?”

Balin nods, leaning back on the crate.

“Oh.”

_**Don’t listen to him.** _

Thorin winces.

“What did it say?”

“It says I shouldn’t listen to you.”

“What if I told you to pretend that voice is an orc. Or an elf. Would you ever listen to it again?”

“No, of course not!”

“That’s precisely what it is. It’s not healthy, Thorin, and it’s not helping you. It’s caused you to make some questionable decisions and to injure your kin.”

“How do I stop it?”

“It will be difficult to stop it completely,” Balin explains. “But for now, I want you to think of the voice as a malicious creature. The Goblin King, if you will. Cast it out, ignore it. If it’s difficult to ignore, I want you to talk to me.” Balin squeezes his hand. “We all want to support you. We know you are going to be a magnificent King who will lead Erebor back into greatness. We all want that. Do you understand? We wouldn’t have risked our lives to come this far with you if we believed otherwise.”

_**Don’t listen to him, you need me!** _

“I don’t need you,” Thorin says. “You have brought me nothing but discontent, fear and pain!” he shouts. Both Dwalin and Nori look concerned, but Balin smiles.

“Good. You’re stronger. You will overcome, and you will rule this mountain.”

“This isn’t going to be easy.”

“It never is. But you have twelve, thirteen with Mr. Baggins, to back you up.”

Thorin nods and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. To his surprise, his mind is quiet; for the first time in weeks, the tension begins to leave his body.

“That’s it,” Balin says, observing the king’s posture. “That’s working. You’re doing well, Thorin.”

The pair sit in silence for a few minutes. Thorin eventually opens his eyes again. “I”m sorry for the pain I’ve caused.”

Balin claps a hand on his arm. “I forgive you. And I’m sure the rest will soon enough.”

Noise from the hallway distracts both of them, and they look up to see Gloin looking, making eye contact with Balin.

“I’ll be right back,” Balin explains. “Just keep breathing deeply.”

Thorin swallows audibly and nods, but his eyes follow Balin, who whispers to both Dwalin and Nori then heads out the door and follows Gloin back toward the other room.

_**I’ve been with you all your life. Why would I wish to cause you harm?** _

“Manipulative elf,” Thorin says.

_**I am you.** _

“No,” Thorin says. “You are not me. I would not have harmed my nephews. You should not be here. You’re wrong.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin says, coming nearer.

Thorin looks up at his closest ally and friend. “I’m sorry, Dwalin. I never meant to hurt anybody. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Dwalin nods. “It’ll get better from here.”

Somehow, that idea forces the first smiles from Thorin in some time. “I hope so.”

A shuffle announces Balin’s return, and he nods to Nori before returning to stand beside Dwalin. “Fili is stable for now,” he says. “Oin has stitched the damage and stopped the bleeding. He’s unconscious, but his body is resting.”

“Can I see him?”

“Kili is still awake,” Balin explains. “I doubt he will be ready to talk to you; he is still very agitated about Fili’s condition and requires rest for his own injury. I need to explain what is happening. Perhaps by morning.”

“I understand,” he sighs.

“Come. Everyone is heading back to bed. Others will take turns watching over Fili and Kili through the night. But we’ll sleep here.”

* * *

When Thorin wakes in the morning, he feels a vigor that has been absent for the last few years; and a noticeable absence of the voice. Dwalin still sleeps nearby, purposefully placed across the doorway, but Balin is folding away his blankets. He notices Thorin and turns to his friend with a soft smile.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Thorin replies, feeling much lighter. “Thank you.”

“I thought you might have,” the older dwarf replies. “I haven’t heard you snore like that in years, and you didn’t toss or turn like you often do.”

“My apologies for the snoring,” Thorin says.

“It’s fine,” Balin replies, moving the bundle of blankets into the corner, and giving Dwalin a quick shake.

“My nephews,” Thorin says. “Did you speak to them? Can I see them?”

“I spoke to Kili late last night,” he says. “And I understand from Gloin that Fili woke during his watch, and he tried to explain. He’s still very ill, and he’s not sure how much he understood.”

Thorin frowns.

“But they are both asleep, so if you would like to see them, you can.”

Both Balin and Dwalin escort him from his room to the one that Fili and Kili claimed. Inside the room some furs are piled in the center of the floor, stained crimson, as is the floor. But the two princes are against the wall now; Kili slumbers in a near-sitting position, his shoulders against the wall and more furs piled around him to support his body. There’s a bloody bandage around his arm; but even so, that arm protectively wraps around the body in front of him.

Laying between his legs, head pillowed on Kili’s abdomen, is Fili. White fabric is wound around his chest, and again around his throat, stained with blood. Thorin watches nervously for a rise and fall of the chest, and only exhales himself when he sees it. His heart sinks as he realizes that he caused this and he trembles.

Balin and Dwalin move closer until he can feel their arms against his, and he’s able to steady himself with their support. “I did this,” he whispers. “Why - how - could I let myself do this?”

“They’re strong lads,” Balin says. “Kili will survive. Fili is healing as we speak; we must keep him rested and clean of infection.”

“We should get him a proper bed. Dori will remember these halls. We should ask Dori to find a bed and have the others help him bring it here.”

“They’re already onto it,” Dwalin says.

“Thank you,” Thorin mutters, his eyes never leaving the slumbering pair.

There’s a light moan, and Kili shifts slightly, stretching in his uncomfortable position, then opening his eyes. He immediately goes rigid when he spots Thorin, and the arm closes over Fili again.

“Kili,” Thorin gasps.

“It alright, lad,” Balin says, purposefully moving to stand between Thorin and Kili. “He’s only come to talk. It’s safe. Just as we discussed last night.”

Kili’s wide eyes look Thorin up and down carefully, his movements short and jittery. It upsets Thorin to see his nephew so frightened; it hurts again knowing that his actions are responsible. He turns away, spotting a chair and moving to retrieve it. He sets the it down at a distance from the pair before seating himself. Only then does Kili appear to relax a little.

“Kili, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t the real me. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kili manages. “Just a cut.”

Fili moans and shifts, and Kili’s hands immediately move to his brother’s, giving them a gentle squeeze.

“I’m here,” Kili whispers. “I’m here. It’s fine. Just rest, and you’ll be fine too.”

“Kili…” the elder moans hoarsely, and his eyes open, immediately fixing on his uncle. Unlike Kili, he doesn’t look at Thorin with fear or agitation. No, there’s anger there. Despite lying wounded and vulnerable, Fili is angry with him.

Somehow, that hurts Thorin more than Kili’s reaction, and he’s unsettled. Anger is not an emotion Fili throws around lightly. It’s very rare that his eldest nephew displays it, and that says more than words ever could.

_**Angry. He’ll never trust you again. You failed, and now he does have a reason to fight back.** _

“No,” Thorin whispers. “Leave me alone.”

“That’s right, fight it off,” Balin says, standing at his side, and Thorin begins to breath deeply, focusing his gaze on his nephews. Kili’s eyes dart between both Balin and Thorin for a moment; a moan from Fili brings it down to his brother.

“Throat sore,” Fili mutters hoarsely.

“I’ll get Oin,” Balin says and moves to leave.

“No!” Kili cries out. “Don’t leave us alone with him.”

“I’m here, lad,” Dwalin says, stepping in and standing at Kili’s side; Thorin feels a pang of hurt again when Kili visibly relaxes with Dwalin’s protection. It’s not long before Balin returns with Oin, who attends to the brothers.

“Come, Thorin. You have sworn war upon the others, and we should discuss what you really want.”

“I don’t want to leave them,” he looks down at Kili, who murmurs words in his brother’s ear as Oin changes the bloody dressing on Fili’s neck. “I need to stay with them.”

“They’ll rest easier if you’re not in the room. Come. You can return later. There’s situations to sort out, or they will face a greater threat. You owe it to them to attend to the impending battle.”

Thorin nods and stands. “Kili, Fili.” The pair turn in unison; still fear in Kili’s eyes and anger in Fili’s. “I’m sorry. I promise that was not me, and I will do my best to right this. You mean the world to me. Kili, I hold your safety dear to my heart. Fili, I will see you through to being the best king Erebor will remember. You are a far better soul than I.”

They don’t reply, at least not verbally. Kili diverts his gaze, and to Thorin’s relief, Fili’s gaze softens. He follows Balin out.

* * *

The mood remained tense for the following week; Kili refused Thorin entry without somebody else in the room with them. The blood was scrubbed from the floor. A large bed graced the room, as did a side table and set of drawers. Out of the all the rooms, it’s the the only one to look like a proper sleeping chamber. Fili regained some of his movement and was permitted to walk around the room; Oin still worried over infection and looked into the wounds daily, but thus far they appear clean. Kili’s arm was sore and weak; he was frustrated that he couldn't hold his sword. He could barely draw his bow, but it pained him greatly. Thorin felt the weight of guilt upon his shoulders.

Outside Erebor, Thorin defused the situation with the elves and men; which was fortunate, as word arrived that an army of orcs and goblins were approaching. The new King established a battle plan with Bard, Thranduil, Dain and Gandalf. The company dressed for the battle, with the exception of Thorin's nephews. Thorin deliberately withheld the battle news from them, knowing they would try to help, even injured as they were. With such unprecedented cooperation, the battle was won. Thorin was the most seriously wounded however; found unconscious by Beorn and rushed back into Erebor, where he was taken to a room.

When he finally opens his eyes, he is surprised to find Bilbo watching over him.

The hobbit draws back and jumps up. “He’s awake. He’s awake!” he calls out, and Thorin grumbles as an elf presses into view, checking over him before offering a smile; the entire time Bilbo hovers at his elbow.

“I’ll be right back,” Bilbo says. “Somebody is desperate to see you.”

Thorin turns his head on the soft pillow, watching the hobbit depart and expecting him to return with Balin or perhaps Dwalin. He’s very surprised when Kili enters, supporting Fili on his arm. And he’s even more surprised when the pair come to his bed, leaning down to hug him.

“What’s this?” he asks, confused. “I am pleased to see you both, but after I last saw you--”

“We’ve been hoping you would wake,” Kili replies, helping his injured brother to sit before taking a seat beside him.

“They said you were badly wounded,” Fili explains. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days.”

“Fili,” Thorin chokes. “You’re looking better. Are you feeling better?”

He lifts his shirt, revealing a pink scar on his chest; his neck is similarly scarred. “Thranduil helped,” he explains. “I’m still tired and sore and sometimes dizzy, but I feel much better. He says he treated me too late to avoid the scarring. But I’ll be fine.”

Thorin blinks back tears of joy. “Thank Mahal,” he whispers. “And Kili?”

The brunet smiles brightly. “I can hold my sword again,” he says, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a thick scar, more white in color than Fili’s.

“I’m so pleased,” he says again, tears coming to his eyes. “I was so worried about both of you. I never meant to harm you. I was sick--”

“We know. Balin explained more about it,” Fili says. “He asked if we’d heard the voices too.”

Thorin’s eyes go wide; he’d never considered this happening to his nephews. “Do you?”

“No,” Fili says with a smile. “He thinks that maybe we are each other’s voice. And that perhaps growing up away from Erebor played a role. But we understand that the voice made you sick, and we’re going to help you through it now that we know. Whenever you need us, we’ll be at your side.”

“And we wanted to let you know we forgive you,” Kili says. “And we were so scared we wouldn’t be able to tell you that. We love you, and we want to help you restore Erebor to greatness.”

Thorin smiles at Kili, reaching out a hand; Kili finds it with his own, then Fili’s joins them. “You forgive me,” he says, looking between the pair. “Thank you. That means more than all of Erebor’s gold.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a personal story linked to this one, found [here](http://furynz.tumblr.com/post/98436078231/sickness-furynz-the-hobbit-all-media-types) on Tumblr if you're interested.


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